


The Proper Way to Serve a Dragon

by ExaltedBrand



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Angst, Bisexuality, Confessions, Crushes, Cunnilingus, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Festivals, French Kissing, Friendship, Heart-to-Heart, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Kimono, Making Out, Outdoor Sex, Porn With Plot, Shopping, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27471676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExaltedBrand/pseuds/ExaltedBrand
Summary: When Ena confesses her troubles over a chance cup of tea, Say'ri resolves to offer the laguz her support – no matter the form it takes.
Relationships: Say'ri/Ena
Comments: 19
Kudos: 16





	1. Like Petals Falling from the Trees

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing suggestion from Lothlan

For Say’ri, tea was more often than not a solitary activity. The months since Yen’fay’s death—and the many more months since her summons to Askr—had left her without company for such occasions; and while she was always pleased to share a cup with a curious soul, she’d grown used to the isolation. The bitterness of the brew, the sweetness of the morning air, the quiet hum of the birds and insects and the wind chimes in the northern tower’s gardens and the consistency of every day – so many different sensations came together in a melange that she never quite knew whether to call comfort or loneliness.

On days like these, however, she was glad to have stubbornly kept up her habit of always bringing along an extra cup, as the very act of drinking alone had a way of inviting unexpected guests. And when Say’ri had stumbled upon another woman wandering those favourite gardens of hers, withdrawn and lost in thought, it had only made sense—nay, only been polite—to offer her some of the tea she’d brought for herself.

“That ought to be long enough,” she said, reaching for the freshly-brewed pot. “Please, my lady – permit me.”

It had been boiled to perfection: clear green and aromatic, rich like the leaves and the earth. Say’ri’s hand was steady, pouring the tea into her guest’s cup as though dutifully performing a sacred rite. The steam spiralled upwards, fading away into the faintest scent of jasmine, and she tended to her own cup with the same care, making sure their drinks were level.

Such a delicate procedure was an art in of itself. A ceremony, Yen’fay would have called it. And neither art nor ceremony could be rushed.

“I pray it’s to your liking.” Say’ri put the teapot down – and smiled at Ena, sitting just across the table from her in the shadow of the garden’s maple tree. “To the unaccustomed tongue, tea of this sort can taste bitter enough to dull the senses. An acquired taste, certainly, but hardly an unpleasant one. Given time, and appreciation.”

“Thank you, Miss Say’ri,” Ena said. Her voice was light and warm, though there was still an odd touch of distance to it – as if she were speaking to someone far beyond Askr. “Your hospitality is most generous. I’ll… try to savour the taste, no matter how bitter.”

She took the cup by the handle, lifted it to her lips, and drank deeply. Say’ri almost thought to caution her, to mind the heat of the boiling water; but it hardly seemed to affect the other woman, who had drained almost half the cup before finally setting it down again.

How strange, Say’ri thought, that Ena should drink her tea in just the same way as Lady Tiki – casting aside her serenity to gulp it down with childlike abandon.

“I see what you mean. Had you not warned me, I might have found the bitterness overpowering.” At last, albeit with less strength, she returned Say’ri’s smile. “But I like the taste. It’s quite refreshing, really – like the morning dew, or… a breath of air.”

Briefly, Say’ri tried to accord either of the comparisons with the cup in her own hand, but both seemed rather too abstract for her to understand. Still, there was something pleasing to the expressions, much as artists and poets painted pictures in their own subtle ways – and the fact that Ena had smiled, no matter how faintly, was a wonderful thing. Measured against her earlier remoteness, it made for the most pleasing picture of all.

“I’ve never had its like before,” Ena continued. She took another sip, more measured. “Is it from your homeland?”

“Aye – and nay.” Say’ri’s expression turned sheepish. “I grant, ‘tis rather confusing. To speak plainly, it’s a Hoshidan tea; or rather a facsimile allowed by the climate and landscape of this Askr. Princess Hinoka has been kind enough to share it with me on occasion – in the absence of anything tea from my own country, Chon’sin. The differences are almost imperceptible, though the most discerning of palates can notice them. A slight saltiness, a stronger fragrance, a sharper richness that lingers on the tongue: all these are characteristic of Hoshidan tea, which is grown—so Princess Hinoka tells me—on the steep mountainsides separating her nation from another. Chon’sin has no mountains so steep or great, and so our tea takes on a subtler flavour. Yet it serves as a perfectly adequate replacement.”

Ena, finishing her cup, looked at Say’ri with an earnest interest. “I see. So you’ve learned to find familiar comforts even in an unfamiliar world… That’s very admirable.”

“Hah – ‘twas no easy task. I should mark myself full fortunate to have found those as generous as Princess Hinoka here in Askr – and more fortunate still to meet those such as the Hoshidans, whose culture bears so many curious parallels to Chon’sin’s. The taste is not exact, but it carries enough familiarity to evoke memories. For me, at least, it is very reminiscent of home.”

Ena’s eyes turned slightly distant again, and a new quietness crept into her voice. “It seems everyone in the Order of Heroes has found a way—each their own way—to feel at home in this land. To feel at peace where their hearts stew with turmoil. To carry out their duties with conviction and dedication, even if they yearn for what they’ve lost…”

Say’ri nodded, sipping her own tea. “Such yearning surrounds us. Consider this garden, for one. Once, it was but a simple courtyard, nestled away in a forgotten corner of this castle. But the Hoshidans, wanting for the familiar surroundings of their culture that simply couldn’t be found elsewhere in Askr, entreated the royal family to grant them such a retreat; and with so Commander Anna’s commissions and connections, they were able to transform this overlooked, neglected place into something truly befitting of their homeland: colourful and brimming with life, yet also humble and modest. A veritable oasis of Hoshidan beauty that keeps the spirit of their home alive.”

“It’s quite beautiful,” Ena said, in a tone of admission. “The plains of Goldoa— _my_ home, that is—are charming in their own way… as one ever tends to view the place they were raised. But they were hardly so picturesque. That was what drew me here today, I think: the desire to see something new. Something different and beautiful, much unlike the mirrored corridors of this castle. And so I was led here, to this unlikely place – and to you.”

Say’ri laughed softly. “You flatter me, indeed, to imply I could offer more value than even the pristine blades of grass in this garden. But I welcome the company. ‘Tis said that from chance meetings are born the most fruitful conversations – and from fruitful conversations, on occasion, lasting friendships. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I… suppose so, yes. Conversation breeds connection, and connection begets trust. Though I’ve never been especially gifted when it comes to making friends…”

“Fie, my lady! Why should you struggle? Your speech is civil, your manner composed, your bearing gracious, and your countenance fair.” Say’ri set aside her tea, focusing her full attention on Ena and offering a gentle expression. “I see no fault in you that should keep anyone from wishing to be your friend – nor you from proving to them your worthiness.”

“You’re most kind, Miss Say’ri.” Ena paused, hesitating; then sighed. “But I fear it runs deeper than that. I’ve had friends in the past—dear friends—but I’m not very good at keeping them. Sometimes, I find it hard to recall their names, or their faces… or even just their voices. Time forges on, never stopping or granting me a chance to look back, and one by one they slip through my fingers like… like sand.”

It was a familiar speech. Friends from the past ebbing away; losing details, one by one; and vanishing altogether, leaving only loneliness. Had Say’ri closed her eyes, even If only for a moment, Ena’s voice would have grown indistinguishable from a very different Voice.

“You were wandering these grounds unaccompanied,” Say’ri observed. “Pray forgive me my impudence, but… you had such a lonely air about you. Have you no-one in this world to confide in?”

Ena smiled again, teasing, but it was faint. “I could say the same for you, Miss Say’ri. Coming here all by yourself, at this early hour, bringing a second cup – simply hoping you’d run into someone.”

“Hah! I concede, ‘tis a fair point. Tea is always more enjoyable when shared with interesting company, and I long for such company in its absence. But permit me to return to my question, my lady: how fare you? How stirs your heart today? In Chon’sin, we say that to keep your troubles bottled up within your heart and left unspoken is to allow a festering wound to rot away at flesh. A truth I know all too well…” She leaned forward and spoke gently, trying to offer sympathy without being overbearing. “If there is anything you wish to confide—anything at all—then pray speak freely. I will lend and an ear, and give counsel if I may. I would consider it an honour.”

“Would you now? Once again, your kindness sweeps me off my feet.”

“I only speak true, Lady Ena,” Say’ri said, smiling. “You are a radiant lady, and ‘tis my hope that you find the happiness you deserve.”

Ena looked down into her empty cup, tracing the rim with her finger. “Thank you, truly… but I fear such a thing is beyond even your power to grant.”

“P'raps. But I can still listen – and that is a place to start.”

“You’re certain?” Ena asked, glancing up. “This is a lovely garden. I don’t wish to spoil the mood with my woes.”

“Nay, you’ll not spoil anything. Besides, ‘tis better that you speak now, I think. For if not now, then when? And if not to me, then to whom?”

Ena held still for a moment, quiet and thoughtful; then she let out another sigh, deeper than her last.

“Might I ask for another cup? This tea does wonders to calm the mind.”

“Of course. Grant me but a moment.”

Say’ri poured the tea with all her practiced grace; and as the steam curled once more into the air and mingled with the smells of the garden, Ena composed herself, took a sip, and began to speak.

“I find it difficult here,” she confessed. “I’m no stranger to traversing unfamiliar lands. My country, Goldoa, has long sought to isolate itself from the rest of my world, so I’m accustomed to wandering into the unknown. But simply being accustomed to it doesn’t make it easy.” She wringed her hands, and looked into Say’ri’s eyes. “You called your observation impudent—and perhaps it was—but you’re entirely correct. I _am_ lonely here. Those friends I mentioned are long gone, separated by both the boundaries of worlds and the passage of years. And so I find myself here in Askr—here, surrounded by so many smiling faces, so much earnest joy and kindness—without anyone. I sought to participate in the Harvest Festival, hoping to share in everyone’s happiness… but while I enjoyed myself, and while the memory of it is dear to me, I found myself entirely unable to forge any meaningful connections from it. I showed up as a stranger in an unusual costume… and I departed much the same.”

Silence settled between them for a moment. Ena paused, drinking from her cup; and Say’ri took the opportunity to speak up.

“Pray forgive me again, my lady, for my boldness – but you are a dragon, are you not?”

“…I am.” Ena tilted her head, regarding Say’ri curiously. “Why do you ask? Does it surprise you to learn that even a dragon can feel lonely?”

“Nay – nay, naught could be further from the truth. I’m well acquainted with the concept, in fact.”

Ena blinked. “You are?”

“Aye. ‘Tis ever true, at least in my world, that dragons are prone to terrible struggles with loneliness. Their lives are carved from millennia, and the seasons’ change robs them of what little joy they find in the present. As the petals falling from this garden’s trees, their friendships are fleeting – and swept away in the wind.”

Ena was silent, almost enraptured. Her gaze turned upwards briefly, watching as a petal fell from the tree overhead, wrested free by the morning breeze, then fell down again, sad but contemplative. Say’ri took it as an invitation to continue, leaning closer over the table.

“In my world,” she said, “I served a lady not unlike yourself. Perhaps she resides here, perhaps not; and if she does, I take it by her decision to conceal her presence from me that she is enjoying a well-deserved reprieve from my pestering. She is kind, and fair, and gentle, and often childish; but she also speaks as you do. With more than three-thousand summers at her back, she finds herself far removed from a time surrounded by friends. ‘Tis a terrible thing – to have watched everyone she knows fade away with time. Even as duty binds her to the present, countless times has she longed for the simpler days of her youth. She yearns for spring, but finds herself fixed in autumn. A season of beautiful descent, aye… but shorn of life and soaked in decay.”

Ena rested her cheek on the palm of her hand, eyes flickering with thought. The tea was all but forgotten.

“You speak with a wisdom beyond your years, Miss Say’ri,” she said.

Say’ri allowed herself a smile. “Wisdom, you say? Fie, if only I could count myself so blessed. ‘Twould be dishonest of me to claim my words as anything more than knowledge inherited in her service. But full often does her plight take root in my thoughts: the loneliness of a long life, the pain of seeing those you hold dear grow old and withered as the forest oaks… and the importance of friendship.” She shook her head, turning her attention to the blooms above. “A life without a companion or two… ‘Tis no way to live. The present is fickle, and all too soon becomes the past. Time’s decay, like my cherished lady’s autumn, only reminds us to treasure what we possess in the moment.”

“But how am I to ever find such a companion?” Ena asked. “I can never hold onto them. Even others of my kind… even _him_ …”

Her voice trailed off, aching with some long-bottled pain she couldn’t quite share. Another petal fell free from the tree, drifting down and down until it landed in her lap. But she hardly noticed it. Her eyes were fixed ahead, staring through the centuries.

How many centuries, Say’ri couldn’t begin to imagine. Save for her tea-drinking habits, her demeanour seemed even wearier than Lady Tiki’s.

“My lady…” Say’ri began. “‘Twould better serve you to focus on the present.”

“…I know.”

Once again, silence briefly returned, overtaken by the wind; but Say’ri refused to be deterred.

“Dwell not on the past, my lady, nor fear the future’s uncertainty. Look instead to what each and every new day might offer you. I see much of the woman I discussed in you: I know of her sadness, and her tragedy, and her longing for friendship. And if some stroke of fate has brought us together—to draw us into these gardens at the same hour, as if by divine appointment, and to grant me the improbably rare experience to answer your woes—then I believe ‘tis foolish to refuse fate’s whims. So, if it please you, if you think it not too direct or inappropriate… I would be honoured to stand by your side, and to and pledge myself to you for your time here in Askr. As a friend, and as a companion.”

Ena’s cheeks coloured faintly red, and she sat up straight, taken aback – as if even centuries of experience couldn’t have prepared her for an offer of friendship.

“I…” she murmured. “I don’t…”

“You need not answer now. I only ask that you think upon it, and know that I am willing to offer myself to you. In my world, I may be the princess of Chon’sin; but here in Askr, I am but a humble swordswoman, ready to serve. ‘Tis all I’ve ever tried to be… and I would be full glad to help you as I’ve helped her.”

The other woman’s eyes were fixed upon her own, and Say’ri could feel her own cheeks beginning to flush, strangely embarrassed all of a sudden. Had she been too forward? Too quick to improperly relate Lady Tiki’s experiences with Ena’s unknowable past, and quicker still to mistakenly insult her?

“I… I shall take my leave of you now, my lady,” she murmured, giving a hurried bow and picking up the tea tray as quickly as she could without seeming impolite. “Should my words… t-that is, if you find yourself—"

“Say’ri… Wait.”

Her gaze snapped up, startled and flustered.

“Aye, my lady…?”

A pause, short and sharp. Then, a full smile bloomed on Ena’s lips – bright like the early petals of spring, blossoming for the first time in an age.

“Please, just call me Ena. If we’re to be friends, I would have us on a first name basis.”

A rush of relief flooded through Say’ri, feeling every ounce of the happiness held within Ena’s own smile; and she returned it, beaming from ear to ear.

“Of course. ‘Twould be my greatest honour, Ena… as friends.”

On closer inspection, there was still plenty of tea left in the pot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter count is tentative for now -- possibly 2, but probably 3.


	2. At the Turn of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several weeks into her friendship with Ena, Say'ri has a proposal.

Some three weeks had passed since Say’ri and Ena’s chance meeting in the northern tower’s gardens – and in all that time, they’d kept each other in near-constant company. When Ena took long, late walks along the castle walls—walks she had once resigned herself, she’d said, to always taking alone—she now found Say’ri waiting for her at the steps leading up to the battlements, a kind smile on her face and a pleasant conversation always readily to hand. When Say’ri ventured down to the training grounds at the cold, crisp hours of sunrise, she now found Ena watching her from afar, quiet as a shadow but glowing with encouragement and admiration. And when they had little else to do for the Order of Heroes, and the days stretched on and threatened to turn tedious, they always—always, without fail—wound up back in those gardens together, sharing cups of steaming tea and the pleasures of quiet companionship.

They talked of everything. Conversation flowed as freely between them as the tea flowed into their cups, and it warmed their hearts in just the same way. They talked of their homes, their cultures, their traditions. Say’ri talked of Chon’sin’s many customs, which she had been surprised to find seemed strange to her foreign guests from Ylisse back home; and Ena talked of Goldoa’s ever-shifting climate: the plains that fell to early snowfall long before the winter and broke just as suddenly with the cycle of volcanic activity, choking the cold snow with hot ash and heralding summers that could last for half a dragon’s lifetime.

Sometimes, they even talked of war. Ena, who’d confessed without elaborating to have once served as a tactician in her world, was fascinated by the sword styles of Chon’sin, and praised Say’ri’s graceful technique while offering considered advice for improvement – the way her footing, while elegant, could often telegraph her intent too clearly; the way her follow-up attacks, on the rare occasion that they failed to strike true, could give a spear the chance to pierce her chest; and the way that she held her blade, pinched just a little too tightly between her fingers, made it more difficult for her to react to attacks from an unexpected direction. Say’ri dutifully took the suggestions to heart, accepting them as gladly as Ena had accepted that first sip of Hoshidan tea, and with each round of practice—silently overlooked, as ever, by the laguz—she felt herself improve. Her flaws, like open wounds, closed up with time: the way she held herself became less rigid, her blade flowed more naturally, her footwork relied more on instinct than a studied, predictable rehearsal. And as she grew accustomed to Ena’s guidance, her movements became increasingly complex and varied.

At times, she found herself wishing that she could have known Ena sooner. She wished that she could have been fortunate enough to have had her by her side in Chon’sin; to have been blessed with her wisdom and her warmth and her quiet strength when Valm had invaded and torn her family apart.

Family. That was the exception. They never talked of family, nor of loved ones. They hoped, perhaps, that silence would help them forget about such things.

Say’ri had pledged to stay by Ena’s side out of sympathy for her circumstances. She’d wanted to comfort her, just as she’d done her best to comfort Lady Tiki through her periods of loneliness. But without realising it, she’d grown to depend on Ena for that same comfort. A respite from solitude – and from a sense of loss she’d tried to close her eyes to.

If she’d known to recognise it, she might have reproached herself for being so selfish. In offering friendship, she’d been searching for friendship of her own. 

But Ena had given her something more.

* * *

As the two of them sat together in the shade of the cherry trees speckled red by the early winter—as they had done every day for weeks that felt like months—Say’ri happened upon an idea.

“Attending the New Year’s festival?” Ena asked. “I’m not opposed to another one, but… I’ve never heard of its like. Is such a celebration commonplace among your kind?”

Say’ri nodded, sipping at her tea. Even the steam carried a strong, fragrant aroma that day, made only stronger by the frigid air. “Aye. ‘Tis true that the Winter Festival inspires more excitement among the members of the Order, but in Chon’sin, the dawn of a new year carries yet greater significance. It affords reflection and resolution in equal measure, and invites one to look to the future with a hopeful spirit. I should quite like to see how the people of Askr interpret the festivities.”

“So it isn’t simply an excuse for revelry and merriment?”

“Nay,” Say’ri said, smiling. “Though I grant you, there is plenty of that as well. ‘Twould bode ill for us if ever we became so bound by tradition and formality that we neglected to enjoy ourselves. The people of Chon’sin revel in the moment, for the past is foregone and the future—even that which we offer prayers for—is unknowable; unfought. As a tree does not weep that the wind may blow and someday shake it from its roots, so must we appreciate what we have – lest it be lost to us on the morrow.”

Ena returned her friend’s smile, cradling her teacup between her hands and staring down into it. “I recall you saying something similar when we first met – of time’s decay, and the value of living in the moment.”

“P'raps I did. Pray forgive me for being twice morose, then: our culture can scarcely escape its fascination with time. Our poetry comments marks its passage through the ever-changing seasons; our paintings through the colours that shall one day fade and become all the more beautiful in age; our songs through the notes that may one day die and never be heard again. And for all that… it pains me so to see time treat your kind so unfairly.”

“So it does,” Ena agreed. “It’s a difficult thing to appreciate the present when it passes by so quickly – and more difficult still to look upon the past with anything but longing, and the future with anything but dread. Perhaps that’s why I struggle to imagine a celebration of the new year. For your kind, I grant, a year is an event. A year is enough time for children to be born, for the old to die, even for kingdoms to rise and fall. But for my kind, it’s like paying tribute to the turn of the hour.”

“Fie, Ena,” Say’ri said, reaching across and placing a hand on the laguz’s own. “Brief though it may seem, ‘tis still an hour shared with those we love and care for. And full honoured would I be to share it with you.”

Ena glanced up, meeting her gaze, and her eyes seemed to sparkle with humour. “Is that so? And by an hour, do you mean the festival? Or do you mean one of your years?”

“I should be glad for both. Both, and more – if it pleases you.”

For a few long moments, Ena seemed to stare at her, some new emotion stirring in her expression. Then, her smile returned.

“Then it seems we’re truly blessed to have met.”

“Aye and aye again,” Say’ri said, gently squeezing her hand. “‘Twould seem we are.”

* * *

Ena had insisted—ardently, in fact—that it was quite unnecessary for Say’ri to go to all the trouble of taking her out shopping for a kimono. Though she’d donned a costume for the Harvest Festival, it had only been because dressing up had seemed essential to the spirit of the celebration. The spirit of a New Year’s festival, by contrast, was found in introspection and reflection, and so she’d maintained that her normal clothes would be more than suitable for the occasion.

Say’ri knew, deep down, that she was probably right. Her robes, deep blue and laced with gold, were as elegant as any kimono, and formed such a pleasing contrast with her pink hair that it would have a considerable challenge for even the most experienced tailor to improve upon her appearance. Moreover, she disliked extravagance. As most of her people, she preferred the simple, understated folds and fabric of a yukata: a reminder, no matter one’s standing, to never let the spirit be polluted by the excesses of luxury or greed. Simplicity would, indeed, have served Ena just fine; perhaps even complimented her humble character better.

When it came to festivities like these, however, she was willing to make an exception. If the Hoshidans saw fit to dress up for the festival, then it was perfectly reasonable for the two of them do likewise. And if a small, selfish part of her wanted to see Ena wrapped up in a flowing blue or gold kimono that made the most of her figure and her beauty… well, that was an incentive of the highest order.

But that was a sillier thought, better left for the unconscious musings of her dreams. Instead, she made every effort to convince herself that she was only following the customs of the festival; that she was simply more concerned with tradition than she’d claimed to be in the gardens. Hypocrisy could be explained away as a simple human flaw. Desire, on the other hand, was something best left unexamined.

In the end—drawn in by her friend’s enthusiasm—Ena had relented; and so the two of them had spent the afternoon going from store to store in Eifsbjorg, determined to find the perfect garment for her.

To their surprise, they had no shortage of choice. The Hoshidan fashions of New Year’s festivals past had caught on, it seemed, across the entire nation—doubtless spread by one very entrepreneurial commander—and in the run up to the celebrations, every tailor in town seemed to be trying her hand at weaving the boldest and brightest designs. There was, admittedly, something distasteful to Say’ri about seeing attire so similar to Chon’sin’s being adopted and sold as little more than popular fashion; yet the patterns on offer were so varied and intriguing—and often stunning—that she could hardly be offended. The best tailors hadn’t simply sought to imitate the Hoshidan designs, but had rather taken them as inspiration for their own interpretations, spinning them into something new and unique – infused just as strongly with Askran aesthetics.

The third tailor they visited had such a design: a white kimono with a silver dragon winding from top to bottom, so subtle that the silver only separated itself from the white at a certain angle, shimmering just as the moon shimmered on water. A representation, Say’ri imagined, of the god-dragon Askr itself, for it much more closely resembled Lady Tiki’s true form than the dragons depicted in the art of Hoshido or Chon’sin. Ena had perhaps seen something intimately familiar in it too – because she’d taken so strongly to it, in spite of her earlier reluctance, that she’d asked to try it on at once.

The small shop’s single dressing room—a room off to one side, divided only by a green velvet curtain—was small even for two, but Say’ri had resolved all those weeks ago to help Ena in any way she could; and so now she squeezed into the room alongside her, helping with the more unusual fastenings and fussing over the smallest of creases.

“It’s a beautiful pattern,” Ena said, moving her arm to catch the dragon in the mirror’s light as Say’ri worked behind her. “It catches the eye without drawing attention to itself or taking away from its surroundings. It’s reserved, content to conceal itself in the shadows… yet ever present, ever watching over the world. Over us.”

Say’ri chuckled, adjusting the sleeve and tightening one final cord. “Words worthy of a Chon’sin proverb. You bring to mind one of my favourites, in fact: ‘They who live in modesty and poverty see the world most clearly, for they are not blinded by the riches around them.’ ‘Twould not be wrong to call a kimono a questionable departure from poverty, aye, but we can still seek humility and restraint in simple patterns.”

Ena managed a laugh of her own, as sweet and delicate to Say’ri’s ears as birdsong. “I might hesitate to call it ‘simple’, though it’s certainly not offensive. I’d worried that such attire would have been too much for me, but… this design has its appeal.”

“Aye again,” Say’ri said, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “Appeal is a fine word for it. It carries modernity, to be sure, yet it also infuses the foreign with the familiar. ‘Tis no less than a work of art.”

Another laugh, even sweeter. “Strong praise, indeed, from a princess of Chon’sin. I fear even long life hasn’t afforded me much of an appreciation for art, but I’m very fond of it all the same. It’s a style unlike anything in Goldoa, and yet… I feel close to it, somehow.”

One of Say’ri’s hands, resting on Ena’s shoulders, moved down the laguz’s arm, gently stroking the silk. Eifsbjorg, as a town, was a healthy marriage of artists and merchants, so it only stood to reason its people would have the finest materials in Askr to hand – but there was something divine about the way it felt, something magical about the sensations it stirred within her.

Had it been worn by anyone else, it might have been less remarkable. But on Ena, the silk was every bit as worthy of admiration as the design.

“How splendid,” she murmured. “‘Tis no ordinary fabric, certainly…”

“It’s very comfortable,” Ena said. “As soft and light as the clouds.”

“As the clouds…?” She smiled. “Aye… Aye, I suppose a dragon would know.”

She reached the end of the sleeve, then felt the sudden warmth of Ena’s hand. Her nerves seized up at the contact, and she immediately thought to pull away; to step back, now that she’d finished admiring the kimono, and allow Ena some space.

So she wasn’t sure why, instead of doing so, she held there for much longer, letting their fingers lace together. Nor was she sure why she continued to stare into the gentle eyes of the laguz through the mirror, who was still mysterious to her in so many ways; or why she felt such an unfamiliar sense of peace in that moment, as if she were no more than a child again, with her mother and father and brother all close beside her.

It was no simple feeling to put into words; no simple phenomenon to explain away with a practiced metaphor relating to the seasons, or the trees, or the rivers and reeds. It was a feeling that could only have been understood, she thought, by someone who had experienced it themselves. Someone who had been lost for a very long time, but had finally found their place.

“…It suits you well,” she said, though her gaze was as far from the kimono as it could have been. “You look radiant as ever, Ena.”

Ena smiled softly. “As do you.”

A quiet lull fell between them; a comfortable silence that seemed to stretch on for some time. Say’ri’s other arm, without thinking, wrapped around Ena’s waist, and the laguz eased into her embrace.

It seemed silly to deny it now. It seemed silly to deny that Say’ri had wanted to see Ena at her most beautiful, whether in gaudy extravagance or honest simplicity. It seemed silly to deny that she wanted to take solace in Ena’s presence; to find a part of her that had been missing long before she’d arrived in Askr. And it seemed silly to deny that ever since they’d parted ways on that first morning and she’d felt the deep, unbearable pain of loneliness, she’d wanted nothing more than to hold Ena as close as she would allow and never let go.

It seemed silly to deny all that now – when she felt Ena’s warmth around her arm, when she felt the tenderness of Ena’s hand, when she felt Ena’s eyes confessing a deep, unmistakable fondness.

But she had little choice. When she’d pledged herself to Ena—pledged to serve her and comfort her—she’d chosen to assume the role of friend and servant, just as she had been to Lady Tiki. It wasn’t her place to be anything more – no matter how brazenly her body had moved, or how strongly her feelings pulled at her. She couldn’t be the one to cross that line, even now. She hadn’t the right.

Gently enough not to upset the silence, she drew back, letting her hand linger affectionately in Ena’s for just a moment longer before their fingers slipped apart.

“…All is decided, then?” she asked, with a composure that betrayed none of their intimacy just moments prior. “‘Twould be selfish of us, I think, to delay other customers with our fascination.” She paused. “Over the kimono, that is.”

Ena, finally casting her eyes down again, looked over the garment one last time. The loss of contact had weakened her smile, but the sight of the silver dragon, gleaming in the shifting light, restored it just as easily – as if she saw something more in it than a simple pattern. Someone more.

“Yes,” she said. “If I were to wear this to the festival with you… I think nothing would make me happier.”

* * *

Say’ri had told herself that she’d never cross the lines of propriety with Ena; that she’d never desire to be anything but her friend, her servant, and her close, faithful confidant. No matter how she felt—how she now realised she felt—she wouldn’t overstep her boundaries or betray her trust. Ena was a dragon, a being who had seen entire continents shaped by time – and she, in her very own words, was only a humble swordswoman. She was but a child gazing up at the moon, hoping to capture even a glimmer of its light.

But as they returned to the castle that day, the kimono wrapped up neatly and their arms wound together with that same affection as in the store, she also told herself that Ena would be more than welcome to cross such lines whenever she desired. _Should_ she ever desire. And if ever she did, then she would have found Say’ri more than glad to receive her.

The hour was turning late, and the year, like the light over the horizon, was ebbing away. In just a few short days, the festival would be upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now i'm not saying things are about to get very smutty, _but_


	3. A Single Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Say'ri and Ena thoroughly enjoy the New Year's festival together.

That night, the grounds just outside the Askran royal family’s castle had been transformed into a feast for the senses. What had once been a simple paved road surrounded by rolling fields now made for a spectacle of light: red paper lanterns hung from well-crafted imitations of Hoshidan architecture, casting a dreamy haze over the stands and crowds and parades of performers. The smells, too, were intoxicating, from fresh takoyaki—just as Say’ri remembered it from Chon’sin—to sweet wagashi lining displays in spectrums of pinks and blues and greens. And the sounds – even the sounds were just right. The bustle of revellers, the excited cries, the drums and bells sounding out from all directions… and the joy and laughter, in spite of everything Askr’s people had endured over the past year.

Some of the more eccentric kimono designs in Eifsbjorg had given Say’ri pause; offered room for doubt that the Askrans truly appreciated the spirit of the occasion beyond considering it a simple exotic curiosity. But walking through the grounds—taking in the sights and the smells, the sounds both near and far, the innumerable small, subtle sensations that all worked in perfect harmony to stir up memories of her childhood—she couldn’t deny that it was a festival fit to herald the new year.

And it felt all the more wonderful with Ena there at her side, arm in arm and whispering all the while about how lovely everything looked. They wandered from stall to stall, guided only by Ena’s curiosity and Say’ri’s nostalgia, and let the evening hours slip away as they indulged in each other’s company.

Time and time again, however, Say’ri found her eyes drawn from the festival’s wonder and back to her companion. She masked it as well as she could; couched her stares in friendly conversation and affectionate smiles – but as the night pressed on, the lights and sounds and rejoicing crowds began to blur and fade into obscurity as she became aware of little else but the woman by her side. The dragon, sad and distant but kind and beautiful. Her words; her scent; her warmth and tenderness.

Though she knew it was foolish, she wanted Ena to catch her looking – and, without the need for words, to understand.

In the store, Ena’s kimono had been remarkable; but out here, glistening in the lanterns, it was fit to steal Say’ri’s breath away. For brief, powerful moments—as the torches of a parade passed them by, as they emerged from shadowed alleys, as the moon broke through the dark clouds and captured Askr in its silver light—the dragon hiding away in the fabric seemed to come alive, dancing in time with the revellers and the music. And even when the moments passed, and the dragon settled back into darkness, it lingered there in Say’ri’s vision – seeming to carry its radiance up to the flicker of Ena’s hair, to the sheen of her skin, to the earnest joy in her smile.

Say’ri’s own kimono had been a gift from the Hoshidan royal family: an elaborate garment, woven in the same purple colours as her usual attire, that she had politely accepted but always thought far too extravagant to ever wear. But in the laguz’s presence—in everything about her—it felt almost inadequate.

If ever a noble doubted that beauty could be found in simple patterns and honest poverty, then Ena stood as a living example.

“I’d thought the Harvest Festival was a sight to behold,” Ena said, letting her friend guide her down a row of stands and lanterns where the dense crowds thinned into privacy. “But this is… incredible. The myriad colours, the inviting atmosphere, the excitement in the air – it hardly feels real.”

“Indeed,” Say’ri replied. “This celebration is every bit the spectacle Princess Hinoka promised me. I had readied myself for a caricature of familiar customs, yet the Askrans have embraced it with both the proper respect and spirit.”

“It’s very much like our garden. Does it remind you of home in the same way…?”

Say’ri looked around, studying everything: the people in stunning kimonos, the lanterns and decorations, the smells of cooking food and the gentle sounds of music.

For a second, she even thought she spied herself in the crowd – a child in a grubby purple yukata, hardly eight or nine years old, walking alongside an older boy and her parents. Then she blinked, and a stranger took the child’s place.

“Aye,” she said. “Every bit of it. Even the gardens, magnificent as they are, pale by comparison. ‘Tis a strong enough likeness, in fact, to trick the eye and draw me into memories…”

“Fond memories? Or…?”

Ena’s voice trailed off, but her question felt heavy with understanding.

“Bittersweet,” Say’ri answered. “Were I offered the chance to revisit those days, ‘twould be false to say I wouldn’t at least consider it. My past and present are ever in conflict – torn between a longing for those who have passed and a duty to those who remain.” She paused, then met Ena’s gaze and smiled. “But I know, when all is weighed, that the present is where I ought to be. And so long as I remain here, ‘tis all but certain that the future has many more blessings yet in store for us.”

Ena smiled back, and her arm tightened around Say’ri’s.

“I understand,” she said. “I feel just the same.”

* * *

To view the midnight fireworks, Say’ri and Ena had chosen a spot far removed from all the noise and commotion of the other spectators. They’d crossed a bridge over a bright, bubbling stream at the very edge of the festival grounds, walked some distance away, and found a quiet little place atop a nearby hill under a single tree, private and remote.

It was a cool night, and the grass was still wet with dew; but this far from the festivities, where the roar of the crowd had become a dull thud and the music a pleasant hum like chimes on the wind, the two of them felt at peace. Ena drew close to Say’ri, resting her head against her friend’s shoulder, and they let their fingers entwine again in the small space between them. They hadn’t spoken of the intimacy; hadn’t agreed upon it, hadn’t drawn attention to it. It had come naturally – as naturally as their steady breathing, and as naturally and the wind brushing the tree against Say’ri’s back.

It had come so naturally, in fact, that Say’ri couldn’t even bring herself to blush. There was no sudden shock to it, no rush of deep and unsettling affection that she couldn’t explain – only the affection she’d had for Ena for so many weeks now, and had long since come to terms with.

It felt right. There in that moment, everything felt right.

“Princess Sakura has spoken highly of these fireworks,” she said, pressing deeper into Ena’s warmth. “From her excited appraisal, ‘tis like to be a display full beyond anything we could imagine.”

Ena turned her head up, hair brushing against Say’ri’s cheek, and smiled. “Really, now? Beyond even Chon’sin’s?”

Say’ri chuckled. “I would hope so, aye. Our appreciation for humility lends itself poorly to impressive spectacles that demand attention. ‘Twas not rare for the year’s turn to be marked by but a single firework – launching high into the dark midwinter’s sky, then blossoming into a thousand pink embers like petals of the coming spring.”

Ena snuggled up closer. “It sounds beautiful.”

“Mm. That it is. Though as a young child attending my very first festival, I recall my fierce disappointment that a dragon did not descend from the heavens and devour the old year whole, as the stories had led me to believe. Only with age—and the double-edged passage of time—did I learn to appreciate the aesthetic of a single spark. ‘Tis the simple things, I suppose, that often shine the brightest.”

Ena hummed, and her eyes fell to her kimono: to the white silk like the softest snow, and to the pale dragon hidden away in the night.

“I agree,” she said. “When something is simple, or understated, it stands out… and can be so much more meaningful.”

Say’ri looked off into the distance for a moment, staring into the starless sky above the festival grounds that would soon be transformed by colour and light.

“You see him in that dragon,” she said. “Have I the right of it?”

Ena glanced up again, eyes widened in surprise.

“T-that’s… I never mentioned…”

“Aye, you did – but once, when we spoke of companionship upon our first meeting.” There was a pause; then she glanced away, immediately apologetic. “Fie, forgive me. ‘Tis shamefully inappropriate for me to pry, and yet more inappropriate to mention it at a time like this…”

Silence fell briefly between them, and the wind died down. Then, Ena sighed, holding Say’ri’s hand more tightly.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re right. The pattern… reminds me of someone dear to me. Another dragon. Someone torn from me before his time.” She met Say’ri’s gaze again, and her smile had turned sad. “It’s only been three years. The blink of an eye, even for your kind. But for as short as the years feel to a dragon… it’s seemed an eternity. An eternity of absence, of longing… and of silence.”

Say’ri’s heart clenched, and she couldn’t help but hold Ena closer.

Ena knew what it was like, then. She knew the feeling of loss so potent that it wrapped around the heart like a chain; that made the world seem just a little darker; that turned one day into a thousand.

Their intimacy ran deeper now than physical affection. It ran into their hearts—into their pasts—and reached the depths of their souls.

“For so long,” Ena continued, “I felt impossibly lonely. But I spoke of that loneliness at length, if you recall. In Goldoa, I was alone. Beyond its borders, I was alone. Even in Askr, where the days were filled with cheer… I found myself wandering that strange, wonderful garden. Alone.”

Then, so softly that Say’ri hardly noticed it, Ena’s free hand drifted up, stroking her cheek.

“Alone – until someone called out to me. A woman—tall, and fair, and kind—carrying a tray of tea with one too many cups for drinking by herself.” The hand moved further up, curling gently around Say’ri’s hair. “A woman who didn’t know me, but reached out all the same. A woman who willingly offered conversation and company, and pledged to stay by my side without condition.” She paused. “A woman, perhaps, who knew what it was like to be lonely.”

“Ena… I–“

“Until then, I hadn’t know that someone could feel that way. That they could feel the same pain I did. That they could understand.”

Ena’s body shifted – and slowly but suddenly, she turned over, knees straddling her friend’s lap and staring into her eyes. The fingers in the princess’s hair tightened, as if afraid to let go, and Ena’s other hand slid away from Say’ri’s own to touch her shoulder.

“I hadn’t known, either,” she whispered, “that someone else could embrace me as tenderly as he did… nor that I could ever learn to find joy in intimacy again.”

Say’ri’s voice failed her. The words froze up, stabbing at her throat like sharp, icy needles, and her breathing lost its usual composure. Her body was warm, her face searing hot – and now, she _was_ blushing.

“Do you understand my meaning?” Ena asked. Her voice, barely a whisper, searched for confirmation. For validation.

Say’ri swallowed. Then, she nodded; and for a moment, Say’ri thought she saw relief in Ena’s eyes.

“And…” the laguz began, “do you feel the same way?”

This time, Say’ri didn’t hesitate.

“Aye, Ena. Aye and aye again.”

The hand on her shoulder nudged her back, pushing her up against that small, solitary tree – and their lips came together, more suddenly than Say’ri could ever have anticipated, in a kiss.

The fireworks, soaring up into the sky in just that same moment and shaking the ground as they exploded, may well have been spectacular. They may well have lit the world up in colour, and may well have been loud and awe-inspiring.

But neither of them noticed. Their attention was only on each other: on the arms wrapping around their shoulders; on their bodies pushing together; on their lips meeting again and again in an outpouring of bottled-up affection. The rest of the world blurred around them, falling away until there was no festival, no castle, no Order of Heroes; until only the two of them were left, all alone with their love.

By Naga, this was really happening. Ena had decided, in the heat of the moment, to cross the lines Say’ri had feared.

And Say’ri, ever a dutiful friend and servant, would gladly accept each and every transgression.

Then, between kisses—as if to test that very thought—one of Ena’s hands pulled at the opening of Say’ri’s kimono, searching for skin – and the world came sharply back into focus.

“F-fie, Ena…!” Say’ri muttered, not entirely in complaint. “Would you have the whole festival see us…?!”

“They won’t see a thing,” Ena whispered in her ear, slowly pulling apart the layers of fabric. She slipped one hand through the gap, then another; and Say’ri couldn’t help but moan softly as the laguz’s hands teased around her hips. “They’re much too far away, and the fireworks have their attention.”

“Even still, ‘tis… ‘tis hardly the place…!”

Say’ri couldn’t say who she was complaining to. Not when she was more than ready for Ena’s advances, more than delighted at her touches, more than willing to let Ena push her down into the grass and express every last bit of her affection stirring in her heart.

If anything, there was a teasing lilt to her protests – as though a part of her, hidden behind the decorum of a princess, delighted in the thrill of doing something like this in a field, and wanted to push Ena a little further.

“Hardly the place?” Ena echoed, smiling as she seemed to catch on. “I am a dragon, Say’ri. I’ve never been one for the indoors. I’d much prefer a soft bed of grass under the open sky than a cage of sheets and stone.”

Her fingers continued their dance, working their way around Say’ri’s body and drawing out soft sighs.

“Please,” she whispered. “Let me show you how I feel.”

Again, she was waiting for confirmation. Again, Ena was approaching her with the same caution Say’ri had felt in Eifsbjorg, as if afraid to cross the threshold—the only threshold that now remained—and jeopardize the perfect, solitary friendship that had started in that garden and grown to become something else altogether.

How strange, Say’ri thought, that a being as mighty and ancient as a dragon could be so tender, so prone to doubts and fears and hesitation. And how sad that, even after all their time together, she was still afraid of losing another friend – as if the connection she shared with Say’ri could fade away or shatter as suddenly as all the rest.

She needn’t have ever worried. Say’ri reached down, taking Ena by the wrist, and guided her hands to the kimono’s last hidden fastenings. Before long, the garment fell open, exposing her chest to the chilly midnight air. She shivered twice—once for the cold, and again for Ena’s touch—but then felt a new warmth overtake her as their eyes met in the darkness.

Behind her, Say’ri could see the fireworks: a vast, dazzling array of reds and greens and golds that hissed and fizzled and blossomed into the night sky. It was the sort of display she’d dreamed of as a child; that she had never stopped dreaming of even after learning to appreciate her country’s way of things.

But as she felt Ena before her—felt Ena’s hands tracing her body, felt Ena’s breath tickling her lips, felt Ena’s gaze burning into her own—she let the fireworks return to a distant blur – unimportant and forgotten.

There was plenty of time left in the world to enjoy fireworks; plenty of time left for festivals. But this moment—this first moment of love—would eventually slip into the past and fade away into memory. And so they’d both keep it alive in the present for as long as time allowed.

The kimono slipped down Say’ri’s shoulders, bearing more of her body to the cold, and she started to work at Ena’s own kimono, deftly untying her sash. For a moment, she saw the sliver dragon flicker in the haze and passion of the moment; then it fell from Ena’s body, a greater burden cast aside, and willingly lost itself in the grass.

Skin touched skin, sending a thrill racing through Say’ri; and as they pushed together into another kiss, tongues flicking out in slow, passionate circles, her hands explored every inch of Ena: her slender hips, her toned stomach, her astonishingly strong shoulders. And with each touch—each touch of her hands, and Ena’s hands on her—she felt a new rush of emotion and desire.

Neither heavens nor earth could contain her feelings; could contain the joy she felt with each soft moan and sigh from Ena’s lips, with each passionate caress, with each sweet kiss.

This, too, was a way of serving Ena. This, too, was a way of showing devotion, and of attending to her needs.

This, too, was a way of thanking her – not only for her friendship and company, but also for the purpose she’d given Say’ri.

And Ena, Say’ri finally realised, was returning the favour – every bit as devoted to _her_ happiness as she had thought herself to Ena's.

It was remarkable, really, how delicate she was. Had Ena shed her familiar features and assumed her true form—or even if she had stayed as she was, only drawing upon her true, inhuman strength—she could have ravished Say’ri; could have pinned her down and overwhelmed her with raw power. A small, suppressed part of her even enjoyed the idea, provided they were both comfortable and willing.

But that wasn’t Ena’s way. Power and dominance weren’t in her nature. Instead, she cherished Say’ri, gently caressing her, comforting her, treating her as an equal – just as Lady Tiki, too, had once expressed in less intimate terms the desire to be her equal. Shorn of the kimono and the silver dragon, Ena’s tender feelings were now for her friend alone, and she expressed herself in the gentlest of ways, showing her adoration with every touch of skin and tongue.

As Say’ri felt her undergarments be drawn down her legs and gently tossed aside, as Ena broke off the kiss and sunk down between her legs, and as the laguz’s hot breath brushed over her dripping womanhood, she only wondered how a being as great as a dragon could have ever fallen in love with her.

Then, Ena’s tongue slipped between her petals, licking and lapping at her nectar, and all remaining thought fled from her mind. Her head lulled back, the fires of their passion burning brighter than the now-distant fireworks, and she moaned more openly than before as Ena’s mouth worked wonders on her, moving with dedicated affection, as if eager to coax every last little bit of pleasure from her body.

“Naga’s mercy…” she gasped, running her hands through Ena’s hair. “Ena… Ena, I…!”

She hadn’t the first idea of what she wanted to say; only knew that she had to say something, had to express her love and devotion in words worthy of a dragon.

Then Ena pushed her tongue even deeper inside her, and all those words she might have spoken melted into moans and sighs instead.

“It’s okay,” Ena panted, her own breath ragged from her efforts. “Let me carry you… to new heights…”

And so she did. Ena’s hands held firm around Say’ri while she pleasured her, bearing her higher and higher with every lick; and soon Say’ri felt as though they were flying together, soaring through the clouds and gazing down on the festival from above. Ena’s face was a picture of concentration, eyebrows furrowed in effort as she applied herself to her lover’s body, and Say’ri could only gasp as the sight filled her with an intensity of emotion she’d never known before. Her fingers tore at the grass, her toes curled in her sandals, every muscle in her body locked and quivered as she approached bliss.

“Ena…!”

Then, at the very peak of her pleasure, she fell. She fell through the night, through the stars, through the lights and the fireworks and the music and the memories – and crashed down to the ground, collapsing in a shuddering, gasping heap. The world sharpened then blurred, blurred then sharpened; and finally, as her vision cleared and the waves of ecstasy subsided at last, Ena fell on top of her, sharing the afterglow in a long, deep kiss.

For a long time, they rested in each other’s arms in silence, listening to the distant thudding of the fireworks and the closer thudding of their hearts. The two disparate sounds mingled in the air, becoming one; and when the display came to an end, and the sparks and crashes faded away into the night, and the first silence of the new year settled across a sleepy Askr, Say’ri and Ena began their intimacy anew.

If Say’ri had come to understand anything from the festival, it was that even a single spark—as the pink embers of Chon’sin’s celebrations, blossoming into something wonderful and new—could light up the night and make it one to never forget.

And she was sure, no matter how many years she had left in Askr with Ena, that there was still plenty of tea left to share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing like a nice bit of wholesome field sex to cap things off
> 
> If you enjoyed this story (and if you're interested in updates on my writing), feel free to follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ExaltedBrandAO3)! I'm more than happy to take requests for F/F rarepairs either here or on there into account for the future.


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